faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

"How the devil did you meet Oscar Wilde?" No, wait, that's the wrong question, the two of them would have gravitated towards each other like magnets, he can already tell that just from what he's heard of Wilde. Crowley himself never met the man. Wilde's wit and urbanity and general literary magnificence would have pulled Aziraphale like a moth to a flame, and Aziraphale...

Well. Aziraphale exudes love and compassion in all directions, all unconsciously, and Crowley knows how strong a pull that can be. Especially towards those with something to hide, those who might long for a bit of comfort or escapism or simple acceptance.

Something catches in his throat, and he takes a drink, swallowing carefully. "Right, well, so Oscar Wilde taught you to dance the gavotte at the Hundred Guineas Club." It takes effort to make it not sound like an innuendo. "Didn't expect that. You learn something new every day. What was it like?"

It's not the question that Crowley means to ask, but Aziraphale answers it anyway, distracted as he is by his memories of that time. "I never pass up the opportunity to meet a great writer, my dear, you know that. And Oscar was particularly charming." A wistful expression passes over his face as he plucks up a roll with his chopsticks and delicately dips it into his soy sauce. "He was very generous with his first editions. It's why I have the collection I do."

He takes a break from his reverie to enjoy a bite of sushi, humming contentedly and then washing it down with a sip of sake. It's only when Crowley speaks again that he remembers the original purpose of his friend's questioning. "What, the dancing, or the club itself? The dancing was very popular. I never lacked for a partner, even when I was only learning."

The last is said in all innocence, perhaps with a touch of confusion. Oh, he knew what some of the men were implying when they asked him to dance, but he never entirely grasped why they would show such interest in him. "I wish you had been there," he says suddenly. "You, ah... well, you would have liked it."

"I'll just bet he was," Crowley mutters under his breath, then shoves a whole uramaki in his mouth to prevent any other stupid giveaway remarks from slipping out.

Chewing that gives Aziraphale time to expand on the dancing theme, at least, and for Crowley to not be faintly envious of a man who's been dead for over hundred years (which is of course not at all what he's doing, and oh look, nigiri).

He nearly chokes as he realizes what Aziraphale is inadvertantly implying. It's not a surprise, Crowley knows exactly what went on in the Hundred Guinea Club, no few number of its members have made a permanent home in certain firey pits that he knows about (some of whom unquestionably deserve it more than others, to his mind). But the faintly baffled expression Aziraphale wears is enough to stifle any barbed witticisms he might have come up with. "Probably I would've, yeah," Crowley says instead, non-commital. "Though not the gavotte bit. Was it still a kissing dance by then?"

The karaoke singing and general restaurant chatter is loud enough to drown out Crowley's muttered remark, but Aziraphale still manages to pick up on the sarcasm behind it, highlighted by a manner of sushi-eating which could best be described by the word sulky. Was it something he said? The angel's confused look only magnifies.

Of course, he has little time to dwell on that, as Crowley brings up the bit about the gavotte that everyone likes to point out. He purses his lips, outwardly displeased, even as that faint blush returns. "Only sometimes," he replies, a little disappointed that Crowley won't even consider the gavotte. Especially if --

No, don't finish that thought. This conversation is already awkward enough. He helps himself to another roll, this one stuffed with salmon roe. "If you have a song in mind, you should put in your selection The queue fills up fast."

Crowley considers Aziraphale, the conversation, the crowd, the entire evening, the gavotte, and the sake.

As he so often does, he shrugs and with an ehhh, fuck it, let's see what happens swaggers over to the karaoke machine to have a look at the selections. He frowns at the first page or two, but settles on something in the end. As he sits back down he gives Aziraphale a pointed look. "You too. I'm not going to be the only one of us up there doing this, fair's fair."

Aziraphale watches him the entire time, eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. He would have thought a little more sake would need to be consumed first. He's not complaining, though. He's rather eager to see Crowley in action, as it were. The demon lives and breathes modern music, this should come naturally to him, self-deprecating remarks on his vocal quality aside.

Oh, that's right, he'll need to sing something, too. He finishes the bite of roe in his mouth, then rises from his seat and heads over to the karaoke machine. Unlike Crowley, he does not browse. He flips to his choice and then selects it decisively.

Returning to his seat, he gives his friend a pleased smile before resuming his meal. If the circumstances were different, he would never be so bold, but the ABBA is already out of the bag, so to speak. What does he have to lose, especially if Crowley is going first? "I'm still thinking on a duet for us, by the way. If you're up for it."

Crowley has a raised eyebrow when Aziraphale comes back. "That was fast. Had something in mind, did you?" He's not sure if that pleased smile is unnerving or not. Pretty sure it is. Aziraphale with an Idea is always a thing to be closely watched.

He takes another long drink of sake, which is not how it should be drunk but he needs to be a lot more drunk a lot more quickly. "Gonna need more alcohol for that, angel. What'd you have in mind?"

"As I told you, they have an extensive song library. No shortage of classics to choose from." And that's the only clue he'll give on his song choice, Crowley. Although he loses some of that bravado when asked for specifics about a duet. "Haven't found anything yet," he admits, his gaze shifting away. "Not sure which songs we'd both know..."

That is a half-truth, at best. He also takes a long drink of sake, and then signals the waiter for another bottle. Crowley isn't the only one who needs more liquid courage.

Crowley shrugs. "Eh, whole evening ahead. We'll see if inspiration strikes. If nothing else you've spent enough time in my car to know the Best of Queen by heart whether you like it or not, so there's always that."

Talk drifts from there, to cars and music and the sushi (which really is blessed good, Crowley has to admit). When his turn is called, Crowley has been well fortified with sake and fish, enough that he merely grimaces and murmurs "Fair warning, angel, any teasing or calling this bebop and I'm out" before walking out.

The unspoken rules of karaoke, Crowley knows, usually demand picking something with hidden meaning, or embarrassing, or that will let you utterly show off. Being here not exactly under duress, he has done none of these things. He picked a safe option. Safe and predictable by Crowley standards, at least. Also, not very long.

The guitars kick in, and Crowley manages a solid rendition of "I'm in Love With My Car" by Queen. He does throw himself into it, because Crowley does nothing without panache, and it's a crime somewhere to sing Queen half-heartedly. He paces along the stage and throws his head back when appropriate and if his voice isn't angelic, if it's lower and smokier and sounds like black leather instead of white velvet...well, it fits.

He gets a smattering of applause when he finishes, bows extravagently, and saunters back to hand the microphone to Aziraphale, who's next. "You're up, angel. Hand me the drinks."

Well, he has a point there. Aziraphale couldn't name a Queen song to save his life, but he has heard them often enough that he could probably muddle his way through. "I'll keep that in mind," he replies, smile returning.

Conversation flows as easily as the sake. It's easy for Aziraphale to get lost in it, enough so that it's a surprise when Crowley is called to the makeshift stage. Aziraphale doesn't even get a chance to tell him that he'd never poke fun before Crowley's up there with the microphone. So he turns in his seat, nursing his sake, and watches the performance. And yes, it is a very safe song choice, anyone who's seen the demon with his Bentley knows how much loves his car, and yet Aziraphale is captivated, watching his friend strut about the stage as if he owns it. Crowley is never one to do things halfway, and if his voice is more of a growl instead of a lilting melody, well, it suits him just fine.

Aziraphale applauds, louder than anyone. "That was a wonderful rendition," he tells Crowley, and if that's too prim of a word choice, the shine in his eyes should make up for it. He hands over the sake in exchange for the microphone, although by the time he reaches the stage, he's looking a little nervous. Aziraphale did not exactly go for a safe song choice. Is it too late to switch to Sondheim?

The sake in his system keeps him from backing out, so when the music starts, he begins to sing. "Let's Do it (Let's Fall in Love)" by Cole Porter is by far the oldest and least rock choice of the evening so far, but the other restaurant goers can't help but quiet down a little and listen to the dulcet tones of an angel's voice as he sways a bit to the rhythm, a sweet, demure smile on his face.

When he's done, there's genuine applause. He passes the microphone to the emcee, then returns to his seat, suddenly rather nervous about whatever judgement Crowley intends to pass on his performance.

The sheer glow on Aziraphale's face (even by angelic standards) catches Crowley by surprise, and it's that more than the compliment that makes him grin the way he does. When he sits down with the sake bottle in his hand he's thinking that maybe this wasn't such a mad idea after all.

And then Cole Porter starts playing.

Oh. Shit.

Aziraphale's performance is terrific, there's no question about that. It's the perfect mix of enthusiastic and coaxing and sweet, without being cloying. Cole Porter was good at that, Crowley remembers vaguely. Clever, clever lyrics to dance across the emotions. So very clever. So very convincing.

Shit, shit, shit, this was a bad idea, he knew it was going to be a bad idea but now he's here and the angel is singing Let's Do It as though--fuck, does Aziraphale knows the unwritten rules of karaoke, or is he just picking things he knows and loves? It seems as though Aziraphale glances his way more often than might be vaguely considered normal, but how to tell? What if it means something? What if it doesn't mean anything?

Crowley feels a bit like he's been kicked in the chest by a mule (a thing that happened once, millennia ago but not an experience to forget). But behind those sunglasses his eyes are riveted on Aziraphale, and he drinks in every note, and when the song end he claps as loudly as anyone. "Excellent work," he says in a low voice as the angel rejoins him at the table. "You've missed your calling, running a bookshop; you should be treading the boards with a voice like that."

Considering that Aziraphale had not even heard of karaoke until last night, he is mostly innocent of its unwritten rules. Consciously, anyway. He chose the song because he likes Cole Porter, and that song in particular. He's always been a bit of a romantic, appreciating the way humans fall in love with one another, ever since Adam first introduced himself to Eve. As is his right, as a being of love, to appreciate such sentiment from a distance.

But there's an ache that comes from singing that song, too. A kind of longing, like a man terrified of heights who dreams of flying. An ache in his chest that only grows whenever he looks at Crowley.

His gaze lifts at the compliment before dropping into a superficially modest smile, although it should be obvious that he is deeply pleased. "Well, it's no 'celestial harmonies'," he teases fondly, wiggling a bit in his seat. "But... I do enjoy it."

The silence settles between them for a beat before he's gesturing politely for the sake bottle. "Would you like to go another round? Or, ah... we could pick a Queen song to sing together? I'm sure you can find one that's appropriate."

Crowley has centuries of practice in picking himself up after moments like this, so doing it is not so very hard Except that it is, because it is difficult as hell not to try and interpret that song as a personal invitation even though he knows it probably wasn't. Probably. Almost certainly.

The only solution he can think of is more alcohol and more karaoke, so..."Yeah, sure, I'll have another try." He refills his cup again and passes the bottle over, trying to think of possibilities that will work but not give him away too horribly.

And then suddenly he grins with that look of utter bastard mischief. "Could have a go of 'I've Got You Under My Skin', if you're still in a Cole Porter mood. Not many can do that one and have it literally be a thing that's happened to them."

His eyes widen at the suggestion. That's... a good point. A very, very good point. Who else but them can claim such a thing? He hasn't forgotten a moment of that day, switching appearances with Crowley and taking his place in Hell. It was one of the scariest, dangerous, bravest things that he'd ever done. And, despite all his fears, he had loved it. Loved being a hero to Crowley for once, for sticking it to his former boss, for... just taking advantage of the moment to be reckless and cool.

It's an incredibly liberating feeling, to know that you're capable of that.

He smiles hesitantly. Hopefully. "And we'd sing that... together?" Because the lyrics of that song fit his feelings perfectly, and not because of the body switching. If Crowley wants to sing it, too... well, that's a far less safe choice than singing about one's car.

Crowley, having had this brilliant inspiration, is now being carried away by it, as so often happens. The irony of it, the wonderful inside joke shared bragging, and all the marvellous overtones and undertones of meaning...that's far too good to resist.

That or maybe the alcohol is starting to kick in. Either way, he'll take it. Aziraphale's rather sweet, hopeful smile is met by a one of Crowley's biggest grins. "'Course we'd do it together. 'S whole point of a duet, right? Here, I'll go book it--"

He does book it, half running over to sign them up, almost ripping pages in his enthusiasm to find the write number in the programme book. Fortunately the piece is one of the duet options. If it weren't, he'd have had to cheat to get it in there, he's not letting go of this idea now he's had it.

He saunters back more slowly, still grinning. "Got a while before we'll be up, though. Meantime let's get that waiter back, I have a sudden craving for popcorn shrimp. And another bottle."

Exhilaration is better than bottle courage, but having bottle courage as well is probably not a bad idea. Especially when it's also delicious.

Edited 2019-09-04 15:09 (UTC)

He watches Crowley rush off to book the song. Their song. The butterflies in his stomach, previously sated with sake and sushi, begin fluttering in earnest. It reminds him of the moment Crowley said that Aziraphale could stay at his place. The moment that they hit upon the brilliant plan of switching appearances. The moment that they walked off to the Ritz, side-by-side, no longer needing to hide their friendship from their superiors, or one another.

The moment that Crowley saved the books.

Oh. Oh, dear.

As Crowley returns, he tries to control that giddy look of anticipation on his face and mostly succeeds. This is fine, friends sing duets all the time. Perfectly fine. "Yes, brilliant idea," he says in response to the request for more sake and more food. With a wave of his hand, the waiter returns, and their order is promptly filled. Meanwhile, Aziraphale helps himself to the last of their current bottle, willing those stubborn butterflies into submission.

Crowley puts any errant giddiness on Aziraphale's part down to excitement about performing. Why not? He's getting excited about it too. Fun to put on a bit of a show once in a while, he likes attention. And probably the sake is kicking in. Good, about time.

Speaking of time, they have some, and fill it with more food and drink and conversation about Cole Porter, whether or not it should be a mortal sin to eat sushi with a fork, and the curse on anyone who sings "My Way" by Sinatra during karaoke sessions, for which Crowley disclaims all responsibility (that there is a curse is evident, but blessed if he knows who's responsible for it).

By the time their turn comes around again he's feeling pretty mellow and merry, and when he stands up to saunter up to the stage is seems appropriate to offer the angel his arm, so he does, with a dashing grin and a flash of yellow irises over the top of his sunglasses. "Come on, angel. Looks like we're up."

Aziraphale keeps up his end of the conversation, unaware of the karoake curse, but grateful to Crowley for hearing about it. On the subject of eating sushi with a fork, Aziraphale declares that it can't be a sin, because if Gabriel ever deigned to try it, he would surely use a fork, and that's a solid indivator that the angel is feeling the effects of the sake, too, especially his little snort-giggle that follows the implied insult against his former boss.

At least it's sake drunk, and not champagne bomb drunk, like last night.

But all the sake in the world can't quell those butterlies when Crowley offers his arm, but he takes it anyway, a charmed smile to go with it as Crowley escorts him to the stage. He lets go when the emcee hands them each a microphone, and a knowing smirk thrown Crowley's way that Aziraphale doesn't notice.

When the music starts, Aziraphale realizes that they never worked out who was singing which part. He takes the lead, gallantly, knowing that he feels more comfortable singing in front of an audience than Crowley, despite the demon's bravado. His singing is far sweeter than the rendition made popular by Sinatra, and aside from a glance to the screen now and then to check whose part is whose, he only has eyes for Crowley.

Crowley catches the emcee's smirk, but fires back an eyebrow raised so high it almost leaps off his forehead and punches the emcee in the face for presumption. The poor man (boy, really) gulps and steps back. Crowley grins wickedly, though the disreputable edge of it fades into something lighter as he turns back to Aziraphale, microphone in hand.

They had forgotten to work out who was beginning, or in fact to plan how to do this at all. No matter. Crowley wings it, the way he wings most things. His singing is a bit more ironic than Aziraphale's, and clearly more amused, though no one else is in on the joke. Just him and Aziraphale. Which makes it all the better.

As the song rolls along, however, he can't help but feel how appropriate it is on another level, and gradually that faint ironic edge fades. That, or maybe the angel's beatific smile and obviously fond gaze get to him. Either way he can't help but smile back, more genuinely. By the end he's singing the lyrics as though he means them.

They sing the last line together, looking at each other's faces, and it's actually something of a shock when the applause breaks in on the moment. The only reason Crowley doesn't blush is because demons don't. It's just hot in here. Nothing else.

The beauty of karaoke, the absolute brilliance of it, Aziraphale decides, is that he can be as heartfelt as he wants all under the guise of a performance, of the assumption that it's simply the way the song is meant to be sung. He takes advantage of that, allowing the lyrics to express his otherwise hidden feelings. His admittedly mixed feelings, for such a long time, fear of reprimand from Heaven (and Crowley's safety) preventing him from being honest with himself, and Crowley.

Of course, that doesn't explain the shift in the way Crowley sings, that touch of irony fading off into genuine affection. As they share that final line, Aziraphale gives him the fondest of looks. It's a bit like a musical, and Aziraphale has seen so many of those. It's tempting to... to say something. Do something. To let the moment continue naturally.

The applause jolts him out of that train of thought. He had clearly forgotten about the rest of the restaurant. Sheepishly, he hands the emcee his microphone. The emcee, wisely, does not make any sort of expression or remark on their performance, not wanting to get another one of those scary looks from Crowley.

Back at their table, Aziraphale finds his voice again. "That was rather wonderful," he tells Crowley sincerely. "Would you... that is, would you like to sing another duet? Or should we take a couple of solo turns again?" He'd like that, if only because getting up on stage again seems less scary than sitting at this intimate table for two, with no lyrics to hide behind.

The lucky thing, Crowley realizes, the really lucky thing, is that he can get away with seeming more goopy than he would normally be willing to be, because it's an act. The fact that it's not exactly an act is his own problem which can be safely ignored and not at all dealt with in any way whatsoever, or even acknowledged. The fact that he gets completely lost in Aziraphale's soft, affectionate gaze for a moment until applause snaps them out of it, likewise.

Doesn't mean anything, of course, Crowley knows that. The angel loves everyone, and he loves musicals, and all this in general is right up his alley. That's all. That's fine, that's better. It can be only that, and they can go back to sushi and ridiculous conversations and...and enjoying each other's company, yeah, call it that. They can just safely go on as they have been, without having to worry about having Heaven or Hell at their throats, and that's enough. It's more than they've ever had and Crowley knows to appreciate it.

But Aziraphale is still smiling at him, the same as he was on the stage.

...he is so fucked. So, so, so fucked. Death by karaoke, of all the incredibly utterly unstylish ways to go.

"Yeah," he says, and it comes out a little croaky, probably because the word has leapt out of him unexpectedly past a large ball of ohshitohshitohshitWHYDIDYOUSAYTHAT. He swallows. "Sure, we can have another go. You got anything in mind?" There is, fortunately, still some of their second bottle of sake left, which Crowley promptly uses to drown some of those inner, screaming doubts.

His eyes light up when Crowley agrees to another duet. He had no idea how much he had been hoping Crowley would say yes until he did. "Oh, jolly good," he says with that same fond smile.

Of course, now there's the matter of finding another song to sing together. It's his turn to choose something, as Crowley had picked the last one. But then, suddenly, he has an epiphany. Crowley chose a... well, a romantic song, for lack of a better word. They sang it together without batting an eye. Which means so many more options are on the table. Aziraphale can choose just about whatever he wants to express to Crowley and get away with it, so long as it's in a song.

Oh, God bless whomever invented karaoke.

Eyes lighting up for an entirely different reason, Aziraphale pretends to consider the question longer than he needs to, hands folded primly in his lap. "Well, since we're already on a Cole Porter streak, how about something from Anything Goes?"

Aaaaaaaaand there's the reason why he said that, to see Aziraphale's face light up the way he does, and the worst part is it's entirely worth it. Utterly fucked, Crowley is. Strange how he doesn't really mind.

But Aziraphale has something in mind, clearly, because he only looks this sort of angelic when he's trying to pretend he's as completely innocent as Crowley knows full well he isn't. Crowley raises an eyebrow. "Even for you, I'm not going to sing 'Blow, Gabriel, Blow', just so we're clear on that from the outset. Does that wanker even have a trumpet? Tell me he doesn't have a trumpet."

Aziraphale laughs. Of all the things for Crowley to say. "Oh, please. Like I'd waste a chance to sing with you on that." As for the rest of the question, he frowns in tipsy contemplation before shrugging and waving a hand. "Dunno. He blew something towards the end there." Heh. "Tell you what, I'll go put what I'm thinking in the queue and if you don't like it, I'll sing it by m'self."

And with that, he's up and heading over to the karaoke songbook, feeling eminently pleased with himself. Crowley does know the musical, but he doesn't suspect a thing. "You're the Top" is easy enough to find, which he selects with gusto. A chance to unabashedly compliment his best friend in song form. This is a brilliant idea.

...this is a terrible idea. A terrible, dangerous idea. A spanner thrown into a six thousand year old friendship that took a near Apocalypse for him to embrace. He should be happy with what he has with Crowley now, why does he feel compelled to mess with it? Does he want his friend to get embarrassed and make an excuse to run off, leaving him to sing torch songs for the rest of the night?

Oh, well. It's too late to turn back. He returns to their table and smiles meekly. "Should be our turn again, soon enough."

Crowley watches Aziraphale bounce (not really bounce) over to the sign-up board, with some trepidation, trying to remember songs from Anything Goes. "I Get a Kick Out of You"? That wouldn't be bad. He could admit to that much without it being hard. "So in Love", that'd be a disaster, no, wait, that's from the later one, whatchacallit, the Shakespeare one.

With a sudden sinking feeling he remembers "Let's Misbehave" is from Anything Goes and nearly discorporates on the spot. That...would be altogether too appropriate and too dangerous and oh, fuck.

So when it's their turn again, and "You're the Top" (which Crowley had completely forgotten about) shows up as the choice? He's much, much too relieved to be nervous or uncomfortable about it.

And honestly, it's easy to get into singing this one. It's not just compliments and a catchy melody, it's a long, long list of really fantastic things about the world they both freely admit they enjoy being in. Crowley even changes one or two of the lyrics, because why compare Aziraphale to the listed things when he can make inside jokes about crepes in Paris and the like?

In short, he has a ball. It shows.

I may have timelines, because nerd. ;)

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....gonna timeskip to singing if that's okay? If not let me know and I'll edit

Works for me! Also, A+ song choice.

I agonized over what to pick, I confess! And ohh, Cole Porter, ace choice. <3

It's from a musical, too, which makes it fair game for Aziraphale. :3

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omg! Brilliant song choice!!!

I laughed SO MUCH when I thought of it! BTW how many songs do we want them to do? I have A Plan.

How about however many song necessary for your plan to work? :3

Works! I'll make it happen somehow. Also, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HkDshJNIdSM

I have never seen that skit before! That's one way to perform a duet, haha!

I'm a Muppet Show addict. =) And unfortunately it's a little relevant.

Is that part of the Plan? :3c

Nah, but the beginning of the duet had elements of it, because Crowley is terrible. ;)

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I'm loving all of this way too much, and just gonna skip to singing again.